Ghost in the Machine
by Reynard the Fox
Summary: Alternate Universe. Sometimes memories linger, sometimes things from the past never truly leave. Sometimes death isn't a barrier. What does it mean to live, to be human? And what separates living from being simply the ghost in the machine? Rated T just in case.


Disclaimer: I don't own the Twilight Saga or any of the characters within that work set of works that will appear in this piece of fiction. That belongs to Stephanie Meyer.

I'd like to thank you all for reading since this is the first piece of fan fiction I have ever published. I still can't believe I finally managed to do this. I'd also like to thank my beta reader Lorvina. Without her I never would have been confident enough to put this together.

Chapter 1: Mourning

The Forks cemetery was quiet this morning. The early morning sun warmed the dew covered grass, drying it from a recent rainfall in the night. Walking among the rows of grave markers was a young girl with light brown eyes and hair, about six feet tall. In her hands was a large bouquet of flowers, red roses and yellow sunflowers. Her eyes took little notice of the gravestones she passed, her body seemingly moving on muscle memory. She knew the path, the names etched onto the stone markers she passed. She'd memorized it not long ago. So many of them she knew or heard about.

_Anton Kirk (1965-2004) Beloved Brother_

Her geometry teacher's brother who committed suicide. Her teacher took a few days off when that happened.

pass it on the left...

_Bea Munroe (1952-2003)_

The mom of one of the kids at school, died of heart failure.

keep going straight...

_Zachary Belmont (2004-2004) _

Mrs. Belmont the school librarian had been so broken up when her son was stillborn.

turn left and up the small hill...

_James Irving (1982-2003)_

The brother of one of the girl's in her gym class, died in a car crash. Angela caught her in the locker room crying a month ago. It was his birthday.

need to turn to the right now...

_Elizabeth Russo (1925-2000)_

The grandmother of another kid at school she passed, and who grew those beautiful roses in her neighborhood. She died of kidney failure.

turn left again...

_Peter Donovan (1922-1985)_

The reverend that her father ended up replacing when she was only three after he died of liver cancer.

toward that patch of trees now...

She stopped by a pair of graves, seemingly separated from the masses of others. Her eyes now looked down, reading off the name etched into the gray stones.

_Isabella Marie Swan (1987-2005) Beloved Daughter, Died Too Young_

_Charlie Swan (1964-2005) Father, Dedicated Officer_

The girl set down a couple a roses by the stone.

"Hey Bella," she whispered to the grave. "I brought these for you, fresh ones to replace the ones I left. You would have liked these. These are actually from Mrs. Russo's rose bushes. She's the one over there," she said pointing. "The new owner of her house is tending to them now and gave these to me." She knelt down, touching the stone with her hands. "Ben's been real nice to me since…" she paused for a hard gulp, "you know. He even asked me out a couple days ago. Can you believe it? Oh, I wish you were still here."

Tears glistened in her eyes now. "It's not fair you know. You were new here; you were trying to fit in. Why Bella…why'd you have to die? No one deserves to die, especially someone so young…and" her voice broke off, "like that."

A few teardrops fell on the wet grass. "At least you didn't have to see what happened to your Dad." She got up and dusted herself off, trying to pull herself together. "I've got to go, but I'll be back later. I hope that wherever you are, you're at peace."

She turned away, walking back towards the entrance to the cemetery. When she got there, someone was already waiting. It was an Asian boy, standing five foot seven with black hair and dark brown eyes. He saw her red and tear stained face and his own expression melted from boredom to concern. "You okay Angela?"

"I'm fine Ben, I always cry when I come here." She went up to him and leaned in, and Ben hugged her tight. "Why? Why'd she have to die?"

"I don't know," said Ben. "I really don't know."

"She was so sad right before, she shouldn't have been killed. I wanted to see her happy again."

"I know Angie," whispered Ben as he stroked her hair. "But I'm sure she'd want you to be happy."

"You're right," said Angela. She wiped her eyes with her shirt sleeve. "I shouldn't let this get to me."

"Come on, I'll take you home."

They got into his Dodge Neon and sped off towards the town of Forks. As the car drove away, a cold wind blew through the branches of the tree, pulling away the warmth of the sun's rays. Then, there was a shimmer near the two graves, a kind of distortion. One of the roses was lifted from the ground by hands unseen, and turned and twisted a bit, like a ballerina in the air. The rose returned to its resting place upon the ground, it's performance over, as the vague outline of a figure flickered in into existence next to it, before vanishing again.

* * *

The cavern was large. That was one of the first things that became apparent when entering into it. But it needed to be. The second thing that became apparent was its contents. Stalagmites and stalactites jutted out from the floor and ceiling, joined by metal support columns and reinforcements. Within its space were banks of computers, the designs of which contrasted with any human designs in history. At one end sat a large keyboard with an equally large computer screen, which pulsated with light.

A door opened somewhere within the cave, and a dark figure crept in, slowly and sticking to shadows. But seemingly in response to their arrival, ceiling lamps burst to life, along with various monitors. The visitor jolted a bit at the burst of light. They were not tall, probably not much more than five feet. They were coved in a suit of black and silver. The chest piece was thick, like it had been built around a bulletproof vest. The boots and gloves were cuffed with metal and wires and the helmet had a large visor like a space suit.

"Did you really think you could sneak in? Or that I didn't notice?" a voice spoke out with a distinctively feminine tone. It echoed from the speakers of the machines, and the monitors flashed with lights and images.

The stranger seemed to slump a bit before coming to sit at a large black leather chair positioned in front of the keyboard. "You knew?" they said.

"Of course I knew," replied the voice again, the volume of which was low but filled with disappointment and anger. "You know perfectly well I track your location for safety's sake, and you left _without telling me_. I think that qualifies as a safety concern."

The stranger took off the helmet, letting long brown hair spill down her shoulders. "I didn't do anything dangerous, I...just went out to see some places, that's all."

"Yeah, but you took the stealth suit, the one that's still technically a prototype." A deep sigh came through the speakers. "Look, I understand why, just _tell me_ before you do that, okay?"

The girl, for that is what she was, lowered her eyes to her hands, "Sorry."

"Well, the suit held up anyway. Any problems while you were out walking?"

She flexed her arm. "Yeah, the bulk of some of these parts made moving or running a bit more problematic. Could you see if you could slim it down?"

"I'll get on it."

"I'm going to work out for a while upstairs." The young woman got up from her seat and started to walk towards a nearby elevator when the electronic voice interrupted again.

"By the way, from what I've been able to pick up, they may be coming back soon."

The girl stiffened. Her next words were a whisper. "Are you sure?"

"Not 100%, but it's looking that way from the things the mikes are getting. Could be within the next couple weeks."

For a few second, there was a tense pause, before the woman replied, her tone measured, like something she was trying to force down. "Keep watching then. And tell me when you get something more."

She left the cave in silence.

* * *

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She was in an upstairs gym, striking the leather punching bag in quick succession with her left hand. Left, left, left, then once with the right, making the bag swing back just a bit farther. The walls of the room were coated in glass, and various other equipment was scattered around the room. On the wall opposite her was a treadmill, and next to that were sets of weights. Right now though, she felt like punching something. She'd discarded the stealth suit for a green tank top and back sweatpants. She had already started to perspire after ten minutes of punching.

So they were coming back. She didn't think they would for a long while. She briefly wondered why they were suddenly returning. Well, no matter. Right now, the facts were that they were probably coming back. Her pace increased, the bag swinging wildly now as she continued to hit it with her left arm. Her eyes locked on it. Briefly, in her mind's eye, she saw not the leather back but something different, something paler, an image of a crooked, twisted smirk. The image got closer, and as it got within a couple inches of her face, she thought she heard a voice ring in her ears, an arrogant and condescending voice.

Her mind filled with rage. Her muscles tightened, and in one instant, with a scream, she swung hard with her right arm, right at the illusion, right at the bag. The chain suspending it from the ceiling suddenly snapped and the bag was sent careening into the wall behind it. Its contents spilled all over the floor. Turning toward the adjacent wall, she saw herself reflection in a panel of the glass covered the walls. Her face twisted in a grimace at the sight of herself, and she ran her right fist into the glass, shattering it.

Labored breathes escaped her lips after the rush of adrenaline as she pulled her right hand free of the wall behind the glass, seeing the dent left behind. Lifting her hand closer, she could see a glint of silver along the knuckles, protruding against her peach skin. Her eyes dulled at the sight of it and she tentatively brushed her fingers over the silver spots, her mouth transforming from a twisted grimace to a deep frown.

"Hey are you alright, I heard the crash." The voice was coming from the monitor mounted into the wall behind her.

She turned to look up at it. "Y-yeah. I guess I got carried away. Sorry about the glass." She hesitated for a second. "You know what? I think I'm going to lie down for a while." Her voice was weak, tired. She walked out of the room, her eyes avoiding all the other mirrors in the room. She walked down the hall, into her bedroom, making little noise as she eased herself on the bed, closing her eyes and letting every muscle release and go limp, letting go of whatever energy she still had stored.

"Why?" she whispered to no one but herself. "Why me?"

And as her mind slipped into unconsciousness, a ray of light from a window beamed onto the single picture sitting on the adjacent dresser. A small framed photo of two people, singed at the edges. A photo of a man and a young girl with pale skin and long brown hair, both close together and smiling. A photo of a lost time.


End file.
